Tag Archive | blackhouse

Countdown to Addergoole Year 9: a Vignette of year 8

52 15 Days To 52 Weeks

For the 52 days leading up to the 52 weeks of Addergoole: Year 9, I will be posting something Addergoole-related every day.

Today: A vignette of Year 8, from Rix’s prompt.

If you leave a light scenario and a number between 2 & 98, I may write another scene!


Thanksgiving, Year 8
Damaris was in Gregori’s room crying again.

He really wasn’t sure what to do about that, so he left her there. The other Kept had Thanksgiving dinner taken care of without her help, and dragging her out into the living room would just make the rest of the crew jeer at him.

He’d asked Deus about it, about Damie crying all the time. “It means,” his crewmate had told him, “that you’re doing it wrong.”

Doing it right, apparently, wasn’t a lesson Amadeus – or anyone else in the crew – felt like teaching him, so he left Damie in his room, got his own beer, and stared at the football like it still meant something.

“Still doing it wrong?” Even Nessie wanted to hassle him about it now.

“Still doing it wrong.” He finished his beer in one gulp. “Maybe you could…”

“Not that kind of girl, sorry. I’ll get you another beer, though.”

“Thanks.” When he got drunk, they’d discovered last year, he lost control of his tentacles. She wasn’t really being generous, just lining up the entertainment. Maybe he should stop at one.

Maybe Damie should stop crying all the time. Maybe…

A knock at the door broke his thoughts. Clearly still unsure of her role, but eager to please, Gita wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door.

“I’m here to see my daughter for the holidays.”

With that dark hair and that height, she probably wasn’t Nessie’s mom, and she wouldn’t have said that if she was Gita’s. Gregori stood up, not sure this was going to be a good idea. “You’re Damie’s mother?”

“And you must be the scumbag who thinks he’s Keeping her.”

note: Gregori becomes the Kraken from the Black House stories.

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Coffee Break, a story of the Black House for the May Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

From [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), the same day as First Day of Work.

Content warnings: d/s and sexual content.

If her Master gave her a reference when her time with him was through, Pretty/Yaminah would have more than earned it. Being his executive assistant was an exhausting and exhaustive position, as much so, if not more, than any position she’d taken for him in his private rooms. Doing it backwards and in heels, the bones of her corset and the tightness of her skirt never letting her forget who she was, that almost made it easier. At least the armor and the prison of her suit kept her upright, never faltering, never flinching. She needed that.

Her Kraken, her Master, treasured her, and, even if she had not arrived in the same car as him, that was quickly apparent to all others in the office. That, of course, came with at least three flavors of jealousy from all sides: those who wanted to be in her Master’s bed (or had been), those who would not go that far but envied her the status it clearly gave her (without understanding, of course, what it took her to earn it) and wanted the Master’s eye for more professional pursuits, and those who envied her Master because he had her.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Lydia from Accounts Receivable was a lovely, svelte woman whose beauty was entirely covered by her poison attitude. “He gets bored quickly.”

And she would still be his, until her two years had passed. Yaminah smiled at Linda and thanked her for the advice.

“Does he put you up in that mansion of his, or is he pretending to be virtuous and paying for an apartment?” That was Greg in Legal, who was still very young and very eager. Yaminah leaned close to his ear, knowing that gave him full view of her cleavage.

“I will pretend you did not ask that question, and not tell Mr. Krake you’re asking about his personal life, how’s that?”

The bobbing of his Adam’s apple was something to behold. “Uh…”

“But I need help with this contract. Something smells fishy about it.”

“Fishy?” He found footing, and it was in a genteel smirk. “Is that the legal term?” Her cleavage was still at eye level though, both tempting him and reminding him that he’d overstepped. He looked over the contract, and found the fishiness she’d been worried about.

“It’s a pity he resorts to nepotism instead of hiring internally. Still, welcome to the company.” One look at Carrie in Marketing told Yaminah/Pretty why she wasn’t the Master’s assistant. She was prettier than Pretty, dressed much the same (although Pretty doubted there was steel surrounding her; she didn’t need it. Her spine was solid iron), even made up much the same, as if the Master had been taunting her by dressing his assistant, and perhaps he had.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Carrie, it was clear, was a control freak. “Please let me know if I can assist you in any manner.” The Master might enjoy taking a control freak to bed, but she served him better being unbroken, in the position she currently held.

She would have said, or thought, that dealing with people was even harder than being Mr. Krake’s assistant, except that dealing with people was why he had brought her on. So she smiled at everyone, sweetheart or jerk or miserable waste of space, and spent a few minutes socializing with every person she was sent to speak with.

Her employer, more than any before him, understood what she could do, and what she needed. He wouldn’t expect miracles until he’d given her the tools to perform them; the tool she needed most was to know people, so he made sure that she spent her first morning on the job getting to know as many of his employees as possible.

After her third time of being nearly directly called a slut and her fourth inappropriate touch, Yaminah/Pretty was getting a bit sick of knowing people. She kept it from her face while she walked back to Mr. Krake’s office, her chin high, her smile warm and friendly. Only when his door was closed did she allow herself to sag at all.

He took one look and knew. “I believe it’s time for a coffee break. Lock the door, Pretty Girl. I have no appointments for the next twenty minutes, is that correct?”

She glanced at his schedule for the look of the thing, although she already had today’s itinerary memorized. “Twenty-five, sir.” His office door locked with a double deadbolt. Nobody was getting in without breaking the door down. The windows, she had noted earlier, were curtained and mirrored as well. They were as private here as they were in his suite.

“Very good.” He nodded at her in approval. “Now kneel, lovely thing. “

The order was a shock to her system. She knelt, eyes half-closing chin up, throat with its tiny chain bared. “Sir?”

“This is your coffee break, Pretty Girl. This is, as well, my break. I’d say we’d both earned it, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Very, very good, Pretty. Take that jacket off, and the blouse. We’ll leave the rest on; this is just a break, after all.”

Her fingers fumbled on the first button, but by the third, she was moving smoothly again; she was Pretty again, and her goal in life was simply to please her master.

By the time she had the clothing off – he took shirt and jacket from her and draped them over a chair – he had his pants unbuttoned and down. “That’s my pretty girl. Hands at the small of your back. Perfect posture, my treasure, just like that.”

Just like that. She could do it, just like this, just like he wanted. “Yes, Master.”

“I love the way you sound when you say that. That’s my girl. Now, I believe you know what to do with this.”

She smiled, because he was smiling. “Yes, my Master. Of course I do.”

“Good girl. Show me.”

She did, putting her all in to it, keeping her posture perfect, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her back. He tasted, as he always did, clean, fresh, with the faintest suggestion of the sea. He smelled like himself, the sweetest scent she had ever known.

Her heels left small imprints in her ass, even through the skirt. The corset held her perfectly straight, and held her breath to small careful rhythms. The skirt held her knees close together, and the pose gave her no room to deal with the warmth between her legs. She had no concerns. He would give her release when he wanted her to have it.

She took him in, using every trick that he had taught her, and every trick she’d learned before him. She wanted his pleasure to be perfect. She wanted him to be perfectly pleased with her.

“That’s it. That’s it, lovely.” His groans were the reward she’d been asking for. “That’s it, yes. Yes. Perfect, Pretty.”

When he helped her to her feet, he was wearing a broader smile than she remembered seeing ever before. “You are truly a treasure, Pretty Girl.” His thumb brushed across her lip and chin, wiping off a small smear of his seed. “Did you enjoy your coffee break?”

The warmth between her legs was nearly unbearable. “Yes, Master.” And she was, as he’d known she’d be, relaxed and confident once again.

“Good girl. Go get us each a coffee, and we’ll talk about the Martinez meeting.”

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First Day of Work, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), about 3 days after Reality (LJ).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

Her Master dressed her for her first day of work. After three days of nudity, broken only by very brief times in a thin robe, the tailored skirt suit, with its brocade corset in lieu of a vest, felt like armor and like a prison all at once. With the skirt tight around her knees and the tall, pointed heels, her walking was constrained to short steps; with the steel of the corset over her ribs and waist, her back was forced straight.

He replaced the heavy collar with a delicate chain that pressed against her throat but looked, to those who didn’t know, like a piece of fine jewelry, and hung matching earrings from her lobes. “Perfect,” he whispered in her ear. “My perfect Pretty, my perfect assistant.” She blushed and said nothing, wishing she could crawl back to her place by his bed, where she knew exactly what was required of her and knew she could do it.

She rode in the back seat of his limo with him this time, not in the trunk. When he saw her gaze fall there as he walked her into the garage, he smiled knowingly. “Not when you’re working, pretty girl. Only when we’re playing.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, feeling the heat come to her cheeks. Playing. In such a short time, playing had become her whole reality. Was it just a hobby to him? Was she just a hobby?

As if reading her mind, he stroked her cheek. “Chin up, Pretty girl. You are my treasure, in the bedroom and in my office. Remember that. I value you for both roles. And now you must be Yaminah, be my executive assistant. I need you to be that woman now, who can handle people.”

She held her chin up, allowing herself a small smile. “Yes, sir. I can do that for you.” It might end up being the longest she’d held a job. She wondered if, when her time under him was through, he’d give her a reference.

“Very good. Now do well today, and I will reward you.” His thumb stroked across her cheek again. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you do badly, because I do not believe you have that in you.”

“No, sir.” Not when so much hinged on it. “I will do well for you, sir.”

He smiled at her. “While we are working, as you are Yaminah there, I am Mister Krake.”

“Mr. Krake.” She chuckled dutifully. “All right.”

“And here we are.” Through the windows of the limo, she could see a seven-story building, its style an odd mix of modern and ancient, almost like a reinvention of the castle. The gate lifted to allow them through, into an underground parking lot brightly-lit and brightly-painted in sea colors. “Once you’re settled, I’ll get you your own car, so you can come here when I’m busy doing other things. You’ll park in the spot next to mine.”

“Yes, Mr. Krake.” It was getting hard to breathe. She counted, slowly, to twenty, and forced a bright, happy smile on her face. “I can’t wait to start.”

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Reality, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@rix_Scaedu)

From rix_scaedu‘s prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), right after Orientation (LJ).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

The girl who had been Yaminah, On-Time-Chime, who was now Pretty oro’Gregori, had heard stories, all through school, of her new Keeper.

She had heard about the Kraken, about his tentacles, about the way that he had, his first year of school, held off three older attackers and ended up walking away from Hell Night having almost killed someone three years ahead of him in school. She’d heard second-hand stories, stories Damaris had told Ackerly. “This is how a Kept is treated. This is how my Keeper’s Keeper treated her.” She’d heard the way the teachers said his name – half anger, half awe.

Nothing had prepared her, any more than any situation that her power had gotten her in had, any more than being Kept by Ackerly had, for the reality of being in his house, in his possession – or in his arms.

He was gentle, for one, as inexorable as his hold was, stroking her back, comforting her. “It has to be frightening,” he murmured, when the sobs had calmed enough that she could hear him, “to have a power that takes you over like that. To be out of control of your own life.”

“Sometimes?” she admitted weakly. “Sometimes it’s useful. Sometimes I end up knowing things, getting things I wouldn’t, otherwise. But I miss my children.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, mortified, and peeked at him, only to find him smiling.

“I don’t blame you. I miss mine, too.” He smoothed her hair gently. “And your power thinks you will be safe here?” He set her down on the carpet. “Come. Let’s get to the bedroom.”

She waited until he stood, then followed his heels down the hallway. “I wonder,” he mused, “what it is your power wants me to protect you from?”

Next: First Day of Work (LJ)

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The Black House: Orientation

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

“These are my private rooms, with the blue carpet.” The Kraken, her master, gestured at the line between the blue tile of the bathroom and the plush floor of the hallway. “No-one but I – and by extension, you – are allowed in here. Within these rooms, you will crawl unless ordered to stand. You will be naked unless ordered clothed, or unless dressing to leave these rooms. And you will not leave these rooms without my permission unless you need to to save my life or your own.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl who had been called Yaminah answered. The orders were not that different than those Ackerley had given her, if more thorough, and with more qualifiers.

“This way.”

It wasn’t even that hard, even though it had been years, to get used to the feeling of crawling, following a set of feet. “You will, within this area, speak only when spoken to. And you will, outside of my private rooms, never convey to others what goes on within this space. Let it be a mystery.”

A little frisson of fear went through her. That order… that meant hiding bad things from people. That meant… it meant pain. Ackerley had only done that a couple times. A couple had been enough.

She didn’t realize she’d stopped, frozen, until he stopped, turned, and looked down at her. Something must have shown in her face, because he knelt down in front of her, taking her chin in his hand again.

“I am not one of those butchers,” he murmured, quiet but fierce. “And I have nothing to hide from my servants or employees. I am not afraid,” he added, a bit amused, “that Luke will come and yell at me, although if you were cy’Luca in your time at Addergoole, he might. But I like the mystery of my chambers to remain the mystery of my chambers. Do you understand?”

She took a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “Thank you, sir.”

“That’s a good girl,” he smiled, patting her shoulder before straightening again. “Something you might want to keep in mind, especially over the next couple weeks, as we get to know each other. When I was Keeping Damaris, I was a teenaged kid with something to prove. Doubly so with Speed. And anything that happened with Ackerley, well, I met the little shit before I left. I would, if I were you, remember that two-steps-removed from a young me is not the same thing, by far, as being Kept by me.”

“Yes, sir,” she choked out. Part of her mind suggested her really meant That bullshit that Ackerley pulled is child’s play compared to what I’m going to do with you, while the rest of her understood that he was trying to tell her I’m not going to leave you bruised and bloody. I outgrew that sort of thing. The conflict left her paralyzed, staring at the blue carpet that defined her new prison.

Somewhere a thousand miles above her, her master sighed. Before she could move, apologize, anything, he was scooping her up into his arms and holding her close to him, pressed against the silk of his shirt. “You are mine,” he whispered, “for the next two years, my possession, my responsibility. I would no more hurt you, abuse you, than I would wreck my car or burn down my house. You are safe with me, my Pretty. Safe. Tell me you understand that.”

She shuddered in his arms, a sob she hadn’t know she was holding back coming out in a long, body-shaking keen. “I understand that, my master,” she whispered.

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Kinkmas Bonus: Bridge, for @Rix_Scaedu

And the end of this thread of the Black House, for Rix

Bridge
“People, mmm?” He set a hand on her chin, looking her deeply in the eyes. “I’d doubt seducing them.”

She winced at his assessment, accurate as it was. “People thought I was pretty,” she offered uncertainly.

“You are. I didn’t name you Pretty to be sarcastic, Pretty girl. But you don’t strike me as the seduction sort.”

“Not really,” she admitted uncertainly. “I’ve never had a lot of interest…” she blushed as she thought about her unknown length of time in the trunk, playing wanton slut to the tentacle.

“That can be taught,” he answered, smirking. “I can teach it.”

She gulped. “Yes, sir,” which only made his smirk broader.

“But, if not seduction…?”

“Managing people,” she managed. “Convincing them of things. Getting them to work together. If Addergoole had had student body presidents…”

“The things Regine never thinks of,” he tsk’d. “So you’re good with people. I can use this – and I can use you to help run my business.” His leer brought even more heat to her cheeks. “When I’m not using you for other things.”

He stood, offering her his hands. “I think the drug has mostly mellowed out. Welcome to my house, and to my life.”

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Kinkmas Bonus: Introduction, for @Rix_Scaedu

More story of Fae Apoc, the Black House, for Rix’s request.

Introductions

Introductions
“A power that wants me Kept… by you,” she clarified. “It hasn’t done anything like this since I graduated.” Honesty compelled her to add, “but it seems to value safety over comfort.”

“Clearly.” He released her chin and ran a washcloth over her shoulders. “You will be mine, entirely mine. But I don’t think you will hate it.”

He could order her not to hate it. She waited, watching his face. Slowly, he smiled.

“You’ve learned, haven’t you? I can see it in your expression.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed quietly.

“Good,” he smirked. “So, pretty, you are now Pretty oro’Gregori.”

She gulped. “Yes, sir.” Gregori.

“You’ve heard of me.” He seemed, she was pretty sure, pleased by this.

“Yes, sir.” Gregori. He looked so very benign, blue eyes, blonde hair, a sweet smile. This was the legendary Kraken? The Monster of the Seventh Cohort? She gulped. “You’ve Kept me before, sir. By proxy.”

“Aah?” He looked more and more intrigued. “Damaris or Speed?”

“Damaris’ Ackerley, sir. Master?”

“Interesting. I will want to know more about that, later. For now… What is your strongest skill?” His hands continued to trail over her as he spoke, calming her.

Strongest skill? “People, Master.”

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Kinkmas Bonus: Exposition, for @Rix_Scaedu

More story of Fae Apoc, the Black House, for Rix’s request.

I could use someone to pick a communal card… or I can ran-generate one for me.

Exposition
Yaminah didn’t quite look at him. Her vision was still blurry from the drugs, and she wasn’t certain, either, that she dared. “How would you have me serve you, Master?” she asked, her voice feeling a little hollow to her ears. She belonged here. But would she survive it?

He took her chin in his hand, and studied her. “First, by always being honest with me when we are alone. Completely honest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Secondly, by telling me what brings a former student of Addergoole prostrating herself at my door. Completely honestly, remember?”

Her mouth was suddenly dry as, with his question, the enormity of what she had done began to sink in. “My power, sir,” she said carefully, “tells me where I need to be. It told me I needed to be with you. For the next two years, it seems.”

“Interesting.” He didn’t sound pleased, but, held by the chin, she couldn’t flinch away. “Has it done this before?”

“I’m… not certain. I hadn’t Changed yet when I was caught before. But, considering the way my first year went, I’ve wondered if my power didn’t push me towards him.”

“Even more interesting. A power that wants you Kept.”

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Merry Kinkmas! Washing & Service, 2 stories of Fae Apoc for @Rix_scaedu

From my card, center row, “i,” and top row, “i.” for a block of “center three, rows one and three” for Rix.
(the free square picked at random from [community profile] kink_bingo‘s communal cards100 words each, Fae Apoc

Content warnings: …slavery, drugs, confinement, humiliation….

Washing/Cleaning
She didn’t notice when the car stopped, until the sense of belonging heightened to an intoxicating level and the trunk opened. Even through her closed eyes, she could see the light.

“Tch,” her Master murmured. “You’ve gotten yourself all messy again.”

Gotten herself didn’t seem fair, considering she’d done what she was told, but she mumbled an apology around the pacifier anyway.

“Come on, pretty.” He lifted her out of the trunk in his arms and carried her, somewhere, somewhere right. It wasn’t until she felt warm water sloshing around her that he told her “you may open your eyes.”

Service
“You serve me now,” he told her, as he washed her.

“Yessir.”

“Do you understand how to serve?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Still, I will have to teach you how I expect to be served, won’t I?”

“Yessir.” His hands were tender and careful as he cleaned her, but his voice was implacable. What had her power gotten her into?

“Understand,” he murmured, “that there is this service, that you will do me, and then there is serving me as my Kept, and they are different things.”

“Yes?”

“It will not always be on your knees and naked that you attend me.”

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Merry Kinkmas! Tentacles & humiliation, 2 stories of Fae Apoc for @Rix_scaedu

From my card, center row, “G” and “n.” for a block of “center three, rows one and three” for Rix. (the free square picked at random from [community profile] kink_bingo‘s communal cards

100 words each, Fae Apoc

Content warnings: …slavery, drugs, confinement, humiliation….

Tentacles
She groaned against the pacifier, her fingers brushing against herself. The sensation – that wasn’t numb, not at all – jolted through her. She writhed, shuddered, and tried to make enough noise, grunting, whimpering, as she moved her fingers in circles.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, sending a shock of pleasure through her. “Maybe a little help?”

“Mm?” Help?

“Here, feel this??”

Feel… “Mmm!” Something, something wrapping around her leg. A tentacle? It felt like it, strong and a bit wet. Then her other leg, forcing them apart. Around her wrists, binding them together. Inside her, slowly, fore and aft.

Humiliation (situational)
“That’s it,” he murmured, as the tentacles penetrated her, stretching her hymen but not tearing it, pressing inside her, pulling against her throat. “Keep your eyes closed, pretty. Keep the plug in your mouth, keep mewling for me.

She did. She didn’t have any choice, nor did she want to stop. She moaned in wanton pleasure, spurred on by the little whispers of praise. “Good girl. That’s my good pet. You’re a wanton little animal, aren’t you?”

Animal. The embarrassment, the degradation, was delicious and horrible. You belong here. You belong like this. Nothing more than a creature. His creature.

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